


Head High Into the Wild

by ThrillingDetectiveTales



Category: Fury (2014)
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21548524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrillingDetectiveTales/pseuds/ThrillingDetectiveTales
Summary: “Well, now, Bible,” Don teased, tilting his cheek so it rested against Boyd’s temple, “if I didn’t know better I’d say that sounds an awful lot like envy coloring your tone.”“What if it is?” Boyd shot back.Don sucked his teeth and sighed with comically exaggerated dismay, “Disappointing to hear that kind of talk from such a godly man as yourself, is all, being as it’s a sin and what have you.”“You pushin’ for wrath at this rate,” Boyd muttered, close enough that he could nearly taste the sweat off Don’s skin when he opened his mouth.
Relationships: Don "Wardaddy" Collier/Boyd "Bible" Swan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	Head High Into the Wild

**Author's Note:**

> I watched this film because I was looking for information about tank units and immediately fell in love with Bible for a variety of reasons, not the least of which being that he's unsubtly gay for Wardaddy. This is just a bit of silliness I wanted to play with to try and pin down character voice, but I hope y'all enjoy it nonetheless.
> 
> Huge thank you to **Zippit** for beta-reading and cheerleading~
> 
> Title is from [The Rural Alberta Advantage's "Alright,"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C3mxKM-TyFU) which is one of many songs I have on my playlist for this pairing.

Boyd was halfway through his third cigarette and his twelfth murmured rendition of the Lord’s Prayer—with a couple of situationally appropriate recitations of verse thrown in for added flavor—when Don came strolling around the corner lazy as a barn cat. He had his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket and his gaze trained on the ground, seeming altogether unconcerned by the fact that Fury was parked in the muddy lane out front with her right tread chewed up by a mine and the good Lord only knew how many German troops bearing down on them.

Don didn’t look up until he was a few short inches away, and even then it was only to tilt his face toward the dirty grey sky as he rested back against the wall of the quaint little German farmhouse in a markedly more relaxed mirror of Boyd’s own forced-casual slouch.

“Spare a light?” he asked, over Boyd’s fevered muttering.

“—and trust that yours shall be the kingdom,” Boyd replied, pointedly raising his voice while Don huffed a ghost of a laugh, “the power, and the glory, forever and ever. Amen.” He waited for a second after he said it so that Don could echo the sentiment if the spirit moved him, but was unsurprised when nothing came. Rarely was Don moved to action by anything beyond the power of his own will.

Boyd wormed his hand into his jacket with a sigh, making quick business of digging his zippo out of the front pocket of his blouse. He pulled the flint-wheel with his thumbnail and held the lighter up as the flame spat to life, watching in silence as Don obligingly ducked his head to dip the end of his cigarette into the dancing orange glow. He sucked a few quick, shallow breaths until the flame caught and then blew a cottony stream out the side of his mouth. Boyd flipped the lid back down and tucked the lighter carefully away. 

It had been a gift from his grandfather back before Boyd shipped out for training and he’d sworn to keep it safe. Couldn’t manage much in as long and bloody a slog as this war had been so far, but it was a point of pride, sin though that may be, that Boyd had maintained success in at least this one small thing.

“Come to join me in worship?” It was a sincere question, though Boyd had mostly asked because he knew Don would find it amusing. Sure enough, the edge of Don’s mouth flickered up for a second out of the corner of Boyd’s eye. 

Don shook his head and chuckled under his breath, half turning away like he was of a mind to disguise this little flush of good humor. It was an uncharacteristic show of meekness, presumably enacted so as not to offend Boyd’s spiritual sensibilities, though Boyd couldn’t imagine why Don thought that mattered now. He and the rest of the miserable heathens on Fury’s crew had been making gleeful sport of acting counter to every one of Boyd’s good Christian values since the moment they’d all washed up together back in North Africa, and Boyd had come to love them still.

“Naw,” Don drawled around a grin, smoke billowing out past his teeth in the same cadence as the long, slow vowel. “You know I’m not a praying man.”

“Can’t hardly think of a better moment to become one,” Boyd offered absently. “Ain’t like we got much else to do, sitting around waiting on a bunch of Krauts to march along and shuffle our mortal coils off for us.” 

He patted down one side of his jacket and back up the other in search of the battered pack of cigarettes he’d been nursing these last few days. He didn’t need another quite yet, but it gave him something to do with his hands beyond weaving them into his hair and screaming his terror at the sky until his throat bled—or worse, reaching out for Don beside him. Strange and accommodating a mood as he appeared to be in, Don had never been the type to appreciate dramatic shows of emotion. Boyd had learned that the hard way in all the years he’d spent at the other man’s shoulder and he wasn’t about to forget it just because his nerves were unravelling like a poorly-knit sweater in the face of their impossible task.

“I could think of a few better things,” Don said, with the carefully practiced blandness he generally employed whenever he was trying to sweet-talk Boyd into slipping away for a stolen moment together. 

Boyd hadn’t heard it in awhile; long enough that he might have been tempted, but for the way that familiar tender pitch curdled when it met the anxiety bubbling in his gut. He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, spitting an aggressive stream of smoke out into the dreary German afternoon.

“Hardly the place for it,” he said curtly, without looking at Don. He felt the air shift, heard the ragged susurration of fabric against wood as Don shrugged.

“We’ve made do with worse.”

“Hardly the time, then,” Boyd snapped. When he glared over, he found Don still peering thoughtfully up at the thick grey clouds blanketing the sky. “We,” Boyd announced, regal and snide as he plucked the butt of the rapidly dwindling cigarette from his lip, “are about to be the last bastion of hope between Hitler and dear old Uncle Sam.” He raised his hand to his mouth and took a deep, smoke-hot breath, flicked the butt into the mud, and shook another cigarette jerkily out of the pack. “Or did you forget?”

Don inclined his head, acknowledging Boyd’s point. He lifted one shoulder in a shrug and finally, _finally,_ turned to meet Boyd’s eye, rolling against the siding until he was leaning on his shoulder with his hip cocked and one leg crossed in front of the other.

“I just figured it might merit a little consideration, seeing as we’re unlikely to find a moment after.”

 _Because we’ll probably all be dead,_ he didn’t say, though the reality of their circumstances hung heavy in the air between them. The irritation simmering in Boyd’s belly caught up against Don’s easy posture, the teasing tilt to his smirk, and ignited to full-blown rage, rushing up through him in a molten stream.

“Yeah?” he huffed, shoving the little cardboard packet back into his pocket and surging forward to jab at Don’s chest, unlit cigarette bobbing wildly between his knuckles. “And whose fault is _that,_ huh?”

Don considered this for a second, slowly reaching up to pull the cigarette from his mouth and tap the ash out onto the ground. “Well,” he said with a smirk, “I’m inclined to blame the Germans.”

Boyd scoffed and made to pull away, but Don moved like a striking viper, dropping his cigarette to wrap one hand around Boyd’s wrist and getting the other fisted in the front of his jacket in quick succession. Boyd yanked his arm back but Don had a good grip and was about as stubborn a cuss as Boyd had ever had the questionable pleasure of knowing, so the action accomplished little more than knocking Boyd off-balance.

He stumbled into Don and grabbed clumsily at Don’s lapel to steady himself, not that the other man seemed to mind. He simply used the shift in momentum to reel Boyd in, clutching tenderly at Boyd’s arm where it rested against his chest and abandoning his hold on Boyd’s jacket in favor of curling his hand firmly around the back of Boyd’s neck, scruffing him as neatly as a newly-whelped pup. Boyd struggled against Don’s grip for a second and then lapsed into mutinous stillness when he couldn’t get free, glaring up at that bold blue gaze with his teeth clenched tight against every momentary unkindness he longed to spit out into Don’s rugged, handsome face.

“Easy,” Don was murmuring, breath warm and tone bright with amusement. “Easy, now.”

“I ain’t a damn horse,” Boyd muttered, and Don snorted through his nose.

“You sure as hell fuss like one,” he disagreed. Boyd scowled and kicked out so their boots knocked together, though he didn’t have enough room to do any real damage. Don laughed again, louder, tugging Boyd against him and adding in a low, soft rumble, “Fair sight prettier, though.”

“Best shut that fool mouth of yours ‘fore someone hears you,” Boyd chided, face flushing even as he reluctantly relaxed into the solid heat of Don’s frame. 

He looped his free arm around Don’s shoulders, pushing his fingers up into the baby-soft fuzz at the back of Don’s head. This close, Don smelled mostly of grease smoke and gunpowder, though there was something sweet and familiar and human underneath. His hands were rough but exceedingly gentle where he had a hold on Boyd, thumb sweeping in absent strokes from the skin behind Boyd’s ear into the curls at the nape of his neck. 

_Lord, but I’m gonna miss this_ , Boyd thought, squeezing his eyes closed and fixing the moment firmly in memory.

“Nobody around,” Don observed in an amused gust that ruffled Boyd’s hair. “Kid’s halfway up the road looking out for incoming Krauts and Coon-Ass got himself all tied up trying to gussy the old gal one last time. Gordo might come looking when he gets bored but he won’t give a good goddamn what he wanders into ‘less we ask him to join us.”

“That ain’t funny,” Boyd grumbled, resting his chin on Don’s shoulder and turning his face in toward the curve of Don’s throat.

“Maybe it ain’t a joke,” Don replied, and Boyd couldn’t help but snort. Gordo was many things—some of them markedly more admirable than others—but he would never love another man so well as Boyd loved Don. To suggest otherwise, even in jest, would likely be courting a swift fist to the jaw, as tended to be Gordo’s preferred method of communication where matters of the heart were concerned.

“It better be,” Boyd warned, shifting closer still, so that he was tucked properly into the curve of Don’s arm. He let his cigarette drop forgotten to the mud in favor of slipping his hand up under Don’s jacket and pressing a palm against the soft-worn cotton of his blouse.

“Well, now, Bible,” Don teased, tilting his cheek so it rested against Boyd’s temple, “if I didn’t know better I’d say that sounds an awful lot like envy coloring your tone.”

“What if it is?” Boyd shot back. 

Don sucked his teeth and sighed with comically exaggerated dismay, “Disappointing to hear that kind of talk from such a godly man as yourself, is all, being as it’s a sin and what have you.”

“You pushin’ for wrath at this rate,” Boyd muttered, close enough that he could nearly taste the sweat off Don’s skin when he opened his mouth.

Don hummed deep in his throat, and said, “Thought that good book of yours had some pretty decisive words on the anger of man.” He dragged the hand he had curled around the back of Boyd’s head down the length of his back to encircle his waist, drawing him in close and tight. There were too many layers of unwashed uniform between them for the contact to be truly salacious but it made Boyd’s breath hitch in the back of his throat even so.

“Sure it does,” he rumbled agreeably, opening his eyes and raising his head just enough to risk a glancing brush of his lips to the stubble-flocked blade of Don’s jaw. “And Jonah said ‘I do well to be angry, even unto death.’”

Don laughed aloud at that, the sound curling warm around Boyd’s ear and thrumming bright between them. It was a gift of God’s grace, Boyd was certain, that Don could stand so close to all the horrors of man and still find the breath for such unabashed humor. 

“Too clever by half,” Don proclaimed in a low, approving murmur, and turned to catch Boyd’s mouth in a proper kiss. His lips were chapped and dry but firm, his tongue hot and familiar where it slipped in careful, questing strokes past Boyd’s teeth.

Boyd moaned before he could help himself, fisting his hand in Don’s shirt and surging up on his toes to push into the kiss. It wasn’t the time for it, Boyd had been right about that, but he had hardly met a bad idea that Don couldn’t goad him into with enough finessing and the low odds of their survival in this instance were doing very little to bolster Boyd’s resolve against the other man’s desire. Don caught Boyd with a grin as he rocked forward and pushed him right back, twisting a little as he did so and managing to get Boyd boxed in against the wall.

“Where’s the fire?” he laughed into Boyd’s mouth, blue eyes sparking. Boyd took the fistful of Don’s shirt he had in hand and pulled hard, savoring the way Don’s eyes darkened and the flush of pink heat creeping under his skin.

“Few miles down the road, ‘heiling’ their way toward an Army supply line,” Boyd supplied, and when Don opened his mouth to laugh again he swallowed the lovely sound down into another kiss.

It was frantic for a moment, the two of them tangled helplessly together in a mess of heat and hands and racing hearts. If there hadn’t been a far greater calling demanding their imminent attention, Boyd could have died happily right here. For just a second his selfishness got the better of him and he thought, _Please, God, please, let this be it_ , and then Don’s thigh slipped between his legs and all of Boyd’s coherency was lost to the flood of sensation.

In the end they knew better than to chase their jollies out in the open, even if the only witnesses around to catch them were otherwise occupied and dear friends, besides. Touching as Don’s optimism on the matter was, Boyd couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that any of their fellow tankers would be willing to brush it under the rug if they stumbled upon their two seniormost crew members in so damningly intimate a position. Such a secret might survive through the heat of one battle, maybe two—assuming all of them walked out of this alive, which Boyd didn’t expect to be the case—but it would come to light eventually and retribution would be swift when it did. 

Boyd was panting and half-hard in his overalls when Don finally pulled away, staggering back one step and then another until he had put a plausibly deniable distance between them. Boyd raised a hand to wipe his mouth and watched as Don smoothed his hair back into place, gaze fixed pointedly on the dirt. He was ruddy under all the dust and soot in the way that Boyd loved best, lips a little swollen and still shining wet. It was the work of all Boyd’s willpower to tuck his hands into his pockets rather than to reach out and draw Don back in. He could feel his fingers shaking when he curled them into careful fists.

Don put his hands to his hips and tilted his head back to sigh a long, metered breath up into the afternoon mist. He closed his eyes for a second as he did so, lips quirking and features softening like he might be able to feel the distant comfort of the sun even through the steely blanket of German clouds. Boyd’s heart ached to see him standing there, so close to peace.

 _Lord,_ he prayed silently, chest clenching with the force of his love, _this is a righteous man You’ve got, bleeding for You, standing for You, even if he may not know it. Blessed be Your plan in all things, that we both - that we_ all _should serve You well, and find peace in the accomplishment of our duties, wherever they may lead._ He swallowed around a sudden, tender knot in his throat and closed his eyes against the familiar sting of tears. _I ask no favor, Lord, but to be near him, and humble myself in thanks for all the hours You’ve seen fit to give us so far. If these are our last, let them be close, and spent in service of Your glory._

“Amen,” he breathed aloud. When he looked up again, Don was scrubbing at his jaw with one hand while he scuffed his foot against the wet gravel. He had Boyd fixed with a fond, familiar smirk. 

“What’s God got to say, then?” he asked. 

Boyd shrugged, summoning a watery smile. “Don’t generally talk back.”

“Hm,” Don sighed, nodding. He kicked at the gravel again, sending a few stray pieces of it skittering into the shallow mirror of a nearby puddle. The water rippled and stilled, and Don watched it for a long moment as if hypnotized, tapping his foot in an absent tattoo against the mud.

Boyd pushed up off the wall and wandered over, standing just near enough to let their elbows brush. Don took a long, low breath and sighed it out through his nose, slinging his arm around Boyd’s shoulders and tugging him along down the lane, back to where Fury was waiting for them, with the rest of the boys buzzing around her like well-meaning flies. Boyd got a hand on Don’s shoulder in turn and fell into the same easy stride with barely a thought.

“Sure about this, top?” he asked.

Don curled the hand he had hanging over Boyd’s shoulder into a loose fist and knocked gently at Boyd’s collarbone with his knuckles. “Sure as I ever am,” he confirmed. Boyd nodded and Don reached up to ruffle his hair for a second before letting his arm drop back down to his side. “Even if I wasn’t, we got a job to do.”

“Best job I ever had,” Boyd agreed, the words spilling past his teeth on instinct. Beside him, Don nodded, grin pulling at the scar on his cheek.

“Best damn job I ever had,” he echoed. They meandered in silence until the distant rhythm of Grady’s familiar backwoods cursing started to rise up through the air, overlaid by Gordo delivering unwelcome commentary in rapidfire Spanish. 

“Company’s not so bad, either,” Don offered, pausing at the building’s corner to give Boyd a long, lingering look.

Boyd felt it keenly, warm and soft as sunshine on his face. If it were another place, another time, he wouldn’t have minded basking in the heat of that gaze until Don tired of bequeathing it. Here, now, with the war balanced between them on the head of a pin, he ducked his head and laughed.

“Yeah,” he grinned, daring to look over and flash Don a wink. “Yeah, I’ve had worse.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> If y'all want to come flail at me about Fury (or any of the other random media properties with which I'm obsessed) you can find me [over on Dreamwidth](https://thrillingdetectivetales.dreamwidth.org) or [on Tumblr,](https://thrillingdetectivetales.tumblr.com) if that's more your style.


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